oh dear oh dear

Oh dear oh dear. I'm afraid we've had a bit of a week. On Monday last, Ranald and Sandy took a break from their labours trying to rebuild the Old Rectory, and went for a stretch of the wings. They headed north west, where Baby Orca (BO) was spotted patrolling the outer reaches of The Minch. He seemed to be building himself up into a frenzy, swimming round in tighter and tighter circles, while moving south east, i.e. towards US.
Bad enough - but directly in his path, they spotted Tuppence, sculling away for dear life.
Fortunately, the two of them managed to heave the coracle into the air, Tuppence safely on board but screaming the most foul abuse imaginable.
He likes to think he can handle any situation, hence his wrath. Hurt pride, plain and simple. But Ranald and Sandy were having none of it.
"Out you go, ungrateful brat!" they said, and tipped the coracle over. Tuppence hurtled to the ground - well, sea - where he had to swim like billy be jiggered while the orca powered his way towards him with a very determined look on his face. He made it to land, give him his due, but we're not sure where he is at the moment. Possibly hiding out in one of the tunnels, plotting his next exploit...
Meanwhile, the Fulmars are getting short shrift at Tupfinder Towers. Mrs T-G says they are eating her out of house and home, and using up all the hot water. The Tupfinder general is spending all his spare time here at the Outcrop, puffing away on his pipe in a very agitated manner and drinking all our madeira, saying he's desperate for some peace and quiet...
The sooner Ranald and Sandy get the Old Rectory up and running, the better.

the old rectory burns to the ground, and I get the blame

Geoffrey and I are having a quiet day today, huddled by the fireside with our kneerugs and steaming mugs of hot madeira as the rain pours down outside. Mind you, even if the rain wasn't pouring down, we'd both be pretty incapable of movement.
"Great to be back home again, Geoffrey."
"Indeed, Tuppy. Just wish we hadn't overindulged at the Fulmars' on Friday. Have you got any more Bisodal by the way?"
We were all invited to BBQ at the Fulmars' on Friday night, in honour of Ranald and Sandy's forthcoming re-modelling of the Old Rectory. Cherry had made up some of her famous korn bif and pineapple kebabs, and I'm sorry to say it and risk seeming ungrateful, but Apsley undercooked them. Geoffrey spotted that the gas jets on the barbeque were burning with a sinister yellow, not blue, flame, and pointed this out to Apsley, emphasizing the risk to us all of carbon monoxide poisoning, not to mention some sort of ghastly improperly-heated-through-food-style poisoning, as well.
"Rubbish! relax and have another drink, Geoff!" said Apsley in his fulsome way, slapping Geoffrey on the shoulder and pouring him another brimming glass of purple peril (meths based drink - see previous posts for recipe). Geoffrey hates being slapped on the shoulder, and he hates being called "Geoff" as well, but he was much too polite to say so. I therefore felt obliged to step in and say something.
Unfortunately, as I stepped forwards, my foot caught in the trailing string of Apsley's special plastic BBQ apron (ghastly - female Fulmar in black underwear on front), and I tripped, banging in to Geoffrey, and knocking his glassful of Purple Peril all over the BBQ, which consequently was set ablaze in no uncertain manner.
Some fool attempted to stem the flames by pouring more meths over, and you can imagine the result.
The Old Rectory was burnt to the ground, jacuzzi, 62" telly, Cherry's Burt Bacharach albums, decking, the lot. We all had to run for our lives!!!
We offered the Fulmars the sanctuary of our settee here at the Outcrop, which they declined rather sniffily, partly because they blame ME for the fire!! and partly because the Outcrop falls a tad short of their usual requirements viz a viz accommodation i.e. we have no "mod cons".
So they are now ensconced in the East Wing of Tupfinder Towers, which has ensuite facilities and gives a lovely view of the sea, so they imagine. (I think the ensuite facilities likely consist of a hole in the floor of the bedroom, with a "drop" on to the seaweed covered rocks below (East Wing is on the fourth floor) - not sure how Cherry will cope with that, but I'm sure we'll hear all about it - I'll bet there is no soft bog roll, either)
No sign of Tuppence yet - Geoffrey flew a mile or two out for a recce but saw nothing.
We can only hope that the Orca is still away visiting his family in the Southern Ocean...

heading for home

What luck! turns out Ranald and Sandy had stopped off at Flannan Isle for a breather on their way to "Hereabouts..." ( see gazetteer for info.) , where they've been invited to give Apsley and Cherry's abode, The Old Rectory, a makeover.
"But WHY? Only last year they got it stonecladded and decked and goodness knows what all else." we asked.
"That's precisely why," replied Ranald. "They want all that stripped down now. They're sick of it. They want a different look for the autumn. More rustic, I think, wasn't it Sandy? Log fires and sheaves of dried this and that? Gourds and twig-type stuff, in earthenware pots? Textured fabrics, in natural tones?"
Sandy shrugged. "No earthly idea and frankly I could not care one jot. They're SO tacky, and they won't listen to advice. It's their way, or no way. Frankly I'd rather it was no way, as I've NO interest in working for them, but what with the recession we need the money. Anyway - can we offer the two of you a lift back to the Outcrop?"
"Yes!!" we chorused, clambering on to their enormous backs.
"Hang on!" they shouted, as they unfurled their beautiful white wings, took off into the westering wind and soared homewards.
As we soared skywards, we glimpsed some wreckage. It looked very much like a pile of rusting tin cans - rusting korn bif tins, to be precise. In fact, we deduced that it was Tuppence's latest TTD (time travelling device - see previous posts), which must have crash-landed on Flannan Isle, hence his mysterious presence on the island. As we flew over the Minch, we glimpsed a tiny white woolly figure clad in yellow oilskins, sculling valiantly away, heading for...well, hard to tell really. But I'm sure it was Tuppence.

welcome visitors

We slithered over the rocks towards the cave where we'd stashed the coracle, closely followed by Tuppence, still firing off the odd shot.
"You're on a hiding to nothing, uncle Tuppy," he shrieked above the gale. "Look!"
We turned and glanced quickly over our shoulders, to see Tuppence brandishing something small in his hand.
"Oh no. It's the bung." Geoffrey's shoulders dropped in despair.
"What?"
"The bung. From the coracle. Without it, it'll sink like a stone."
With that, Tuppence scurried past us, bung in hand, and proceeded to retrieve the coracle.
"Bye, uncle Tuppy!" he screamed as he sculled out into thirty foot waves. "Happy landings!"
"He's gone completely off his rocker," I said. "But we still don't know how he got here in the first place. He must have had a craft of some sort. We'd better have a look round once the gale dies down."
"Yes," said Geoffrey. "Perhaps there's something we can salvage."
"Geoffrey, " I said, "I need to say something at this juncture. Please don't worry about me. You have wings. You can fly away whenever you like. Please don't stay here and starve with me. I'll be all right on my own. Please don't worry about me, being left here to die alone on the rocks, with no-one to comfort me. Don't worry in the least. Just you go, and save yourself. I'll be fine. Honestly."
"Nonsense, Tuppy!" cried Goeffrey, with tears in his eyes. "If I DO fly away..."
"Oh!" a small cry escaped my lips.
"If I DO fly away, " he continued, with a smile, "It will only be to fetch help. Don't worry, Tuppy. I'd never leave you to die."
Suddenly the gale died down, and we felt another breeze - as enormous wings flapped around our heads...
"Ranald and Sandy! how lovely of you to stop by!" cried Geoffrey. It was the Wand'ring Albatrosse's. What luck!

trapped in the lighthouse with an armed maniac

We followed Tuppence's advice and struggled out into the howling elements to rescue the coracle. Luckily for Tuppence, he was sporting full gale-style protection kit, viz. an oilskin coat which reached to his ankles, seaboots, and a matching oilskin hat. Geoffrey and I were less fortunate. Of course, my wool does contain lanolin, and Geoffrey's feathers have waterproofing, nevertheless we soon found ourselves shivering and soaked through as we battled across the slippery seaweed covered rocks to the shingle beach where we'd stashed the coracle.
Eventually we managed to drag it into a cave high above the tide line, where it should be safe enough.
After, we restored ourselves with some emergency madeira and cake rations beside a crackling driftwood fire, inside the lighthouse.
"But what on earth are you DOING here, uncle Tuppy?" queried Tuppence, fixing me with his most piercing and disapproving gaze.
"I might ask you the same question, nephew," I replied, refusing to be intimidated by his stare.
"Can't say," he said curtly. "Top secret. Special ops."
"For goodness sake! don't be so melodramatic!" I snapped, then instantly regretted my loss of self control as Tuppence threw off his oilskin to reveal a brace of pistols stuck into his belt.
"Don't worry, uncle Tuppy. I won't use them. Unless I HAVE to."
Geoffrey and I exchanged glances. Tuppence was even more power mad than ever. We would need to take steps. Either that, or leave the island asap.
As soon as Tuppence nodded off by the fire, Geoffrey and I had a whispered confab.
"We can't let him go around behaving like this, Tuppy! Carrying pistols, and throwing his weight about! He's completely deluded! he's going to end up in the hulks!"
"Hold on a minute, Geoffrey. We don't know who's pulling his strings, do we? For all we know, he really could be on special ops.."
"Rubbish! he's bonkers! let's get those pistols off him while he's still asleep."
Suddenly, a hail of shot blasted into the lighthouse wall, and the initial T appeared in bulletholes above the fireplace.
"You fools!" laughed Tuppence, twirling the smoking pistols then sticking them back into his belt.
Geoffrey and I backed towards the door as swiftly as possible under the circumstances. Trapped on Flannan Isle, with a maniac armed to the teeth? there was only one thing to do...
RUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

a surprise meeting on Flannan Isle

Well we're still on the Flannan Isles and a wild and windy spot it is. We're quite sheltered in the old lighthouse, but it's terribly creepy (to put it mildly). The door was swinging open on its rusty old hinges when we arrived, and inside all was dank and dark. Geoffrey struck a match and revealed the cobwebby remains of the lighthouse keepers' final meal - a bit of stale bread and the dregs of some ale. Which I polished off - no point wasting it - and I have to say it was a damn sight tastier than Scott's last biscuit (see previous posts - some while ago, I got into a lot of trouble after scoffing that).

We got the fire lit and were toasting ourselves by its flickering light when we heard ghostly footsteps in the stairwell which spirals upwards to the light itself. At first we blamed it on the wind, which was beginning to howl abominably, and the pattering of rain on the tiny leaded window, but the volume intensified, the footsteps thundered downwards towards us, and eventually we huddled together behind the door in terror for our lives...

Suddenly the door burst open, and a voice piped, "Better move the coracle further up the beach uncle Tuppy!"

It was Tuppence, my incorrigible nephew - but what on earth was he doing, on Flannan Isle?

an unexpected holiday

Spockfingers threw himself on to the settee and promptly fell sound asleep. The snoring was so unbelievably loud that the walls and roof of the outcrop began to shake alarmingly. We decided we'd have to wake him up - no easy task - and instantly regretted it, because he then burst into song. Awful renditions of various "numbers" he remembered from T in the Park. We tried to find out how long he intended to stay with us, but he refused to say.
Eventually, we decided that if HE wasn't moving, WE would have to. So, we got out the old coracle, packed a few belongings and supplies into a couple of teachests and set off into the blue. We sculled and sculled with a following wind, past the time-space continuum anomaly, and the Infra Inn, and the Hulks, (now rusting and empty, thankfully - see last years posts if you want to know how we rescued all the poor sheep who were awaiting slaughter) until we cleared the headland of "Over There".
Eventually, we reached the archipelago of St Kilda, but the seas were against us and we had to scull away again through mountainous waves. After sailing through the night, we ended up at the old lighthouse on the Flannan Isles.
We're still there...